Blinding Darkness
by LisalikesPhantom
Summary: Lerouxbased. What happens after Christine leaves Erik? Will he ever be able to lead a normal life? More normal than the only one he has ever known?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note PLEASE READ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!:**

**This is my very first shot at a serious **_**Phantom**_** story. I have written a prologue type first chapter, and I wish for you to read it! I will need LOTS of feedback, **_**constructive**_** criticism, and Honesty!!! So, my wonderful readers and reviewers of my other, less serious works(ahem you know the ones, of course, not counting **_**most**_** of the poems:P), I need you now more than ever! Yes, yes, I am begging, I cannot deny that, but I'm serious! Please let me know what you think, especially areas of improvement. Now, sorry, that was long, just had to say…so read :D**

_Lost hope…lost love…_It takes some time for these things to sink in. I stand here, staring out over the darkness of the lake…where she had disappeared. _I wish…_but what do I wish? That I had never met her? That she had never met that boy? That I had never fallen in love?...Love is not a word for the way I feel about her. I desperately try to think, but for once, my mind fails me. So I continue to stare, at a complete loss of what to do, or of what to think about. _Lost hope, lost love..._

Being completely oblivious to what my body is doing, I fall to the ground, and weep. I weep for lost hope, lost love, lost dreams…I weep for her. I have realized that she is not here…she has left…she is…_gone._ And she will never return to me. _My Angel! _I cry! I weep, and weep, and I cannot discontinue my tears, for the flow of water coming from my eyes seems to be as violent as rain in a heavy storm. And, at the moment, that is exactly how I feel. _Oh Christine, what have you done to your Angel, to me, to Erik?_ I try to clear my thoughts, but all composure momentarily leaves me, and I lie here, near my home, close to the deadly stillness of this underground lake on the cold, hard stone ground... I have abandoned myself temporarily to the darkness, the sound of my sobbing and the trickle of tears gently falling into the water being the only. A clear, vivid image of her face swims to my mind, and I cry harder, howl at my misfortune, and scream out at nothingness. I lift up my hands to my face and entwine my nails into my flesh, scratching, scraping pounding. _My cursed ugliness! My wretched soul!_ _My violent actions! My insanity!_ The tears flow harder, and I begin to struggle for breath. But I do not care. I acknowledge the stabbing pains in my chest, for it is no use to pretend that they are not there. There is nothing left now but to weep, for the tears which continue to flow do not seem like they want to stop anytime soon. I lie here, having refrained from inflicting further physical pain upon my self, reflecting upon my life, and upon the people that I have met…and upon the world. If God exists, and if he truly and wholly grants wonderful things, I hope he relieves me of my pain. I wish to die tonight, for there is nothing left to live for. _Take me…soon..._

I grow shaky, experiencing a sensation similar to being spun around blackness repeatedly. How long I have been lying here, shuddering, shaking and weeping, I cannot tell, for time is no use to me. The tears become less, and the aching in my body more. I know it can't be any longer than a few minutes now…how exhausted I am. My eyelids grow heavy, and I sigh, satisfied. Slowly, I sink into utter blackness, the kind that is much more dense than that of a simply unlit room.


	2. Mere Feet Away

A/N: not sure why I'm writing now, I'm in a car with bright sunlight and happy music and absolutely no inspiration… :P Well, let's see where this takes us!

Disclaimer: disclaimed.

The sound of trickling water penetrates the silence as thick as the darkness itself. I stir, slowly, and eventually awaken. Sitting up slowly, I take in my surroundings in a very confused state of mind. I notice the hard stone floor beneath me. I am not in my house. Why…?

And then all drowsiness leaves me as I recall, with a shudder, the events which have taken place in the last few hours of my being. I clutch my chest…my hammering heart has accelerated with the occurrence of my realization, but the spasms seem to have subsided... _you couldn't even leave me to die, could you, God? The one favor I ask that seems to be for the best of everyone…no, my heart was near to failing yet I have not passed! What does this mean, God? Have you punished me for my actions? Have I _sinned_, perhaps? Well remember something, God…this is how you created me! A hideous carcass which everyone comes to despise, even my own mother! _ "I DID NOT CHOOSE THIS, _GOD!", _I roar, as my thoughts turn verbal. A fresh wave of emotion washes over me, but filled more with fury this time. I madly run into my house, taking hold of objects and hurling them away. Cries of frustration, anger and passion fill my home as I wreck the place. Exhausted and in pain, I sink down into my coffin and fall asleep weeping.

Nightmares made up of old memories haunt my head as I sleep. My mother yelling at me for asking something…a slave girl tortured and murdered before my very eyes…Christine singing for me and then delighting all of Paris…a chandelier falling, crashing…an angelic voice weeping with me…her sweet tears mingling with mine…that boy and my love rowing away…forever…and then moving unnaturally fast…and someone is saying something…along a field…try to ignore the urgent voice…running, racing, yet not tiring…_ "the ground is unstable here"…_ the field suddenly ends and turns into nothingness… "_You must keep away from the edge…"…_falling… "Away from the EDGE!" falling……….falling………….

With a jolt I wake up, panting and sweating. Frantically I try to remember that voice…years and years it has been…_of course._ He showed me the most beautiful view of Rome. He taught me and I became his apprentice. He cared for me and I considered him a father. _Giovanni…_a tear pricks to me eye and I wipe it away. Aloud, I ask, "Must I always keep away from the edge?" Strange that these words seem to have some sort of peculiar significance. ...I slowly make my way out of my room. Stunned, I rub my eyes in disbelief at the sight before my eyes. Everything is destroyed. A shelf lies face down on the floor, books and pieces of parchment are scattered throughout the room. Tea cups and ink bottles lie smashed on the ground, with ink drops on the walls. Quills and sheets of music are strewn across the room and...my heart seems to stop. Helpless and in several pieces lies my beloved organ…I instantly search the room for my viola, but it seems to be lost. I would have to clean this place up. Will I be able to repair the damages I have made? My main trouble is the organ. But sure I will be able to play it again soon. I knell down to the ground and begin to scoop up the odds and ends, but stop to inspect my beloved instrument. Stroking it absent mindedly, I check the pedals and the keys, poking, prodding, and applying pressure on different parts. Most of them seem to be working well…others are rather stiff. Next, I examine the stops. Most of them are rather dented, which will affect the pressure of the air admitted to the pipes. After more stroking, nudging, and inspecting I decide that the problem is fixable. Satisfied, I stand up and look around. _Keep away from the edge…Must I always keep away from the edge?_

I realize the strange significance this very conversation seems to have. I must keep away from the edge if I am willing to stay sane. I must not step over the edge and plunge into utter darkness, or, in the case of my bizarre nightmare, nothingness. Insanity. As I look around this room, the very chaos and clutter seems to spell out the very beginning of this utterance: _Insanity._ I will no longer dwell over lost love, or live within the tormented memories of my past. I am not a ghost, a phantom, a trap door lover, and neither am I a monster. I am a man, who is born, lives, and must, as all men do, one day die.

I am Erik!

A/N: wow that was hard to write. Anywho I own nothing. Nothing at all. This Erik is Leroux based, but Susan Kay's novel inspires me far too much to ignore. I do not own these quotes which can be found on page 137 of her novel _Phantom: the novel of his life. _

I know it might seem unoriginal to use quotations from a book but Kay's novel provides one with so much background information about Erik's possible life. Again I own nothing, and I'll stop the ranting now  please r&r! (p.s: it's taken me several weeks to write this, so when I started I was driving back from my vacation. I think the darkness of when I went scuba diving around shipwrecks inspired me. It was awesome, go try it!)


	3. Chapter 3

Deciding to set to work, I ponder with what to start to undo the mess I have created. After a few seconds of thinking, I choose to pick up all loose knick knacks, such as quills, paper and small broken items. Once having disposed of the garbage, I begin to sort papers: sheets of music, compositions, and drawings. For hours I occupy myself with looking over long lost unfinished scores, half-drawn buildings and partially painted pictures. Having sorted them into piles, I walk over to the tipped over shelf. Slowly lifting it up, I gently place it back to where it has always stood. I bend down to pick up crumpled papers underneath where the shelf had lain. While smoothing and folding pages something catches my eye and I lean closer to the shelf. A silvery looking knob catches the light from the few candles lit in the dim room. I pull it, and with it comes a small paper sized drawer. After removing the large amount of dust which had accumulated over a long stretch of time, I gasp when the mystery is revealed. Horrified, I drop the paper in my hand and, with shaky hands, remove the sheets inside. As I shuffle through them, the muscles in my chest and stomach tighten more and more and a fresh lump forms in my throat…

_The little boy stood there, waiting anxiously for his answer. 'You must not ask that', she sobbed. 'You must never, never ask that again…do you understand me, Erik…never!'_

_The little boy backed away in horror and began to yell, '…I don't like birthdays…I _hate _them!'_…..._The little boy ran to his room, full of grief, confusion, and at a loss of what to do…so the little boy took off what had shielded him from the world all his life and decided to find out what the necessity of this object really was…why it had been the most important thing to _her. …_The little boy bravely made his way down to supper and opened the door to the dining room. 'Why must I always wear the mask? No one else has to.'_

_And then the little boy was dragged in a whirlwind of anger in front of a terrible image…the little boy threw himself at this horrifying illusion and longed to destroy it, to perhaps search for something, anything that might have been beyond it, or simply to get rid of it. The nice lady picked the slivers of glass from his bloody skin and later that night the little boy could not make his nightmares disappear. So the little boy sat down at his desk and began to write…notes, notes, notes, filling lines, sheets, booklets of paper, until he became exhausted enough to sleep peacefully and pack away these haunting melodies for good_ ……………..

_The man sat down at his beautiful organ, filled with passion and tenderness. He stared at one of his paintings of his new love, his sweet angel. On yet another score he began to work, leaving the last one unfinished, for nothing was ever good enough for his beloved and this new song would surely be better than all the other ones_..._After many hours the man finally dropped his pen, satisfied. Where to store these works…they needed a special spot, for it was like keeping her with him. He swiftly pulled out a small, delicately hand-crafted wooden drawer. He expected what he saw inside, but, no matter, it is time to let go of these things. He opened the compartment inside the drawer that would hide the most terrible day of his life from his view for ever, and placed the horrible memories inside. Once they were shut out of sight, he gently placed his new and joyous work on top and set the drawer back where it belonged. He felt elated…finally was he able to let go of something terrible and replace it with something he loved…something which would always bring him joy_……….

Inside this small drawer lined with blood red velvet lie many beautiful…beautiful, yet terrible things. The sweetest songs cover these pages written with the finest ink and most delicate touch…wonderful things transformed into notes when I thought of wonderful things…when I thought of _her._ And what lies hidden underneath this painful sweetness, will be best left untouched…I am not ready to face such a vivid memory of my bleak childhood just yet. I bravely swallow the growing lump in my throat and put the empty – or as it appears – drawer back in its place, and place the dangerously graceful music upright on the shelf. Shaking my head, I push what I had just come across to the back of my mind. Once everything is placed back on its shelf where it is supposed to be, I pick up the fallen lamp and set it upon the small table beside the sofa. A pile of more papers is propped up oddly against the wall I pick it up, only to find my viola standing upright against the wall. I crack a smile. _Thank goodness…_

After putting my much smaller but equally beautiful instrument back on its display, I wipe the walls clean from the ink and pick up loose quills and ink bottles. Satisfied, I sit down and admire my work. It looks just the way it had. And why should it not? There is no reason to make my house uninhabitable just because I have been hurt by someone else. Now and forever, nothing exists but my music and I. I shall compose, compose, and keep composing, exploring every style, fashion and genre of music possible. My mind shall reach the vastest corners of my art, until, one day, I am able to be laid to rest peacefully and content with nothing but thought of music on my mind. This is what my life was always meant to be like. This is how it once was, and this is how it shall continue!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 – One Step Out

a/n: forgot to mention anything in the last chapter…so here it goes:

I DON'T OWN PHANTOM! GRR!

And also, I do not own the lyrics to the song you shall …read in this chapter. They can be found in Nightwish's _Ghost Love Score. _I have this idea forming in my mind…

I lay down my pen, yawning. It has been quite a few days now, and I am still working on this particular piece. If one can even call _that_ 'working on it_'. _The score is finished – I had out of the blue decided to write a full orchestral score – but it is missing something. I cannot fathom _what…_but I know that there is something…_something. _

It has this sort of dark yet beautiful side to it…very symphonic and classical…with several instrumental solos, and even though the last measure is written and finalized, it is not finished. I do not try to convince myself otherwise, for I have learned to trust my musical instincts. In the back of my mind, an idea forms – but I refuse to put it onto paper for there is no one…nobody…no _her_. I sigh. Indeed, this piece requires an operatic voice, for it needs…no, _wants…_words.

How did I get myself into this? I have decided not to let my past affect my present, but Christine, even though she is forever gone from me, will not let me alone. To my own surprise, anger boils up deep inside my chest instead of the expected emotions made up of gloomy past memories and self-pity.

The anger will not stop, but it will not increase either. It stays cooped up, but I do not feel like I am going to explode anytime soon. Determined, I pull empty sheets of paper in front of me and begin to write. Passionate, poetic words, yet violent and harsh all at once:

_My fall will be for you_

_My love will be in you_

_If you be the one to_

_Cut me I'll bleed forever_

Furiously I write now. Inspiration fills me like wine fills glass:

_T__ake me__  
__Cure me__  
__Kill me__  
__Bring me home__  
__Every way__  
__Every day__  
__Just another loop in the hangman's noose_

The words fly across the pages, barely legible due to the rough hand. For what seems like an hour, a minute, a second, days, weeks, months, I write words, everything around me, all surroundings, blurred out and unreal. I am only aware of the music inside my head and the words on the sheets of paper. I add more verses, choruses, and even an intro. _Scratch!_ I startle out of my trance and jump up.

What was that sound?! I look around the room and back down at my music, and then I realize: there is no paper left for me to write on. Part of a word runs onto my desk. A few scrapes in the shape of some letters are now etched into my desk. "Well, will you look at that!", I say, quite shocked. I realize that I didn't have that much paper to begin with, and that it is time for me to be getting some more.

"Oh, hell!", I curse. With barely any hesitation, I take my cloak from a hook and wrap it around me. Yes, I must break this deal with myself and go out into the lighted world…to buy paper. _Paper._ I should most definitely make my own…it would make things much easier…but surely I can't grow trees down here?...I break out of my silent rambling when I scratch an itch on my cheek. I am not wearing my mask!

"Erik, this new attitude of accepting your fate is getting to you!", I say out loud. Shaking my head, I turn around, and begin to walk. Honestly, going out without your mask - _splash! _"Ho!" Baffled, I stare up at the boat…I had already been rowing in it, without even realizing. And now I am looking up at it from the lake…I have fallen into the lake. _I have fallen out of the boat into my lake. _

Sighing, I seize the side of the little row boat and heave myself in. I cannot help but chuckle. Back at the house, I hang up my soaking wet clothes and put on fresh ones. "Ha! To think that a carcass such as I would care about his attire!"

Once again I am out the door, but with my mask this time. Finally I am able to step outside. The weather is not cold, but has a warm spring air about it. I begin to walk, my feet carrying me god-knows-where. I can't help but notice how strange I feel. I feel…_content. _To think I would feel this way, especially after my furious writing incident.

I know I haven't exactly forgotten about Christine…and yet again a piece is being written for her. So why do I feel fine…almost…relieved? My boot hits something and I look up. I am standing right in front of the supply store. Now I notice a twanging pain in my toe. "You're just the down right klutz today, aren't you, Erik?"

But I realize too late that I have said this out loud. A young girl walks by, looking at me like I have done something strange. "Don't pretend like you've never talked to yourself", I say to her, opening the door and walking into the shop.

I remember just where the paper is kept. Fourth isle towards the middle – why? The paper is not where it used to be! I look around. The whole shop has been rearranged! "Those fools!" I cry out.

In a huff, I stomp around to one of the workers there. "Excuse me, would you mind telling me where the paper is? You seem to have moved its place, much to the _inconvenience_ of many!" The woman peers at me uneasily, no doubt judging my mask.

To my own surprise, this does not bother me, so I cross my arms and tap my foot impatiently, looking around the store in a mock – bored way. Suddenly the woman realizes that she is being most rude, and she quickly puts on a very large smile.

This looks so ridiculous to me that I, for once, thank the heavens that I am able to control my laughter. "Of course. This way, monsieur." She begins to walk and motions for me to follow her. Soon enough, she points at one of the shelves. "Here it is, monsieur. I expect you will be able to reach it?"

The shelf is quite up high for an average person, but it only goes an inch or so above my height. I incline my head.

"Thank you, mademoiselle, you are too kind." She smiles that fake smile again, and leaves. I cannot help but snort as I reach up for the paper. I make a mental note of second isle, up high on the shelf, just in case. I reach the cash register and a loud _pop_ can be heard as I place the stack of paper onto the counter.

The young boy behind the counter looks at me rather puzzled. Oh, come now, don't people ever buy a bunch of – 50 stacks of paper? "Will that be all, sir?" he asks. The fool! "Yes, thank you."

I pay the price and walk the heck out of there. Back down the small street I go, passing many more little shops. I am about to turn into the Rue Scribe when something catches my eye. A ridiculously small building, with round windows and an overly large looking wooden door, has a few signs posted on it. I do not think I have ever seen this little store before. It must be new. I near it, and begin to read on of the signs:

_Bring in your music today!_

_You might just be waiting to be discovered!_

And another:

_Have your piece heard! Experts will evaluate!_

I stare at these ridiculous pieces of overly colourful looking paper, and for some reason, I double over laughing. How ridiculous! These little ignorant fools do not know what they are doing! I am almost kneeling down when I decide to reorganize myself.

I stand up, wiping the tears from my eyes, and straighten out my clothes. Then I continue walking back towards the Opera. Taking care not to go for a swim again, I carefully step in and out of my boat. Back in my house, I sit down, rather confused.

Why am I so happy? I never recall laughing this much in a matter of a few hours. Even now I am smiling. What _has _gotten into me? Laying down my stash of paper onto a small table, I sit down at my organ. Staring down at my new score, I realize the unknown.

This is exactly why I am happy. Deciding to forget about Christine – well, as close as it can get to forgetting – was all a great decision, but I needed something to get all the mixed feelings of hatred, love, passion, anger and self – loathing out.

Now that I have written this song, am I able to truly move on with my life. Finishing the last line of the song, I call it a day and decide to go to sleep. A content feeling settles within me, and I am able to close my eyes in my coffin and rest.

A/N: I really really hope this transition from being all depressed to being content is not too sudden, or un Erik like. Once again I do not own _Phantom, Ghost Love Score, _and neither do I own Nightwish. But that would be sooo cool…go listen to them, best band ever!! )

p.s: Review???? Review:D

s


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